Eulogy

This started as some stories to share at the memorial, and became the eulogy. It was incredibly cathartic to write, and I hope it illustrates some aspect of my love for my late father.

My father was a great man. He was born to parents, who, at the time of his birth, were essentially homeless. They worked as farm help on the area farms and part of their pay was shelter. When Andersen's built their plant in Bayport, they were able to afford land there and build a home. My father lived on that land in that house, and then another, for his entire life.

He was raised by strict parents under hard conditions, but he was a loving man. Just not a subtle man. When I asked my father about matters of love in high school and specifically, of his and my mother's courtship, he told me I'd have to ask her, to which she related how he'd proposed to her. They were driving home, and he turned and said "All our friends think we should get married. So what do YOU think?" (Deadpan)Truly, a romantic man.

During his life, he held many jobs and wore many hats. From a busboy at the Lowel Inn in Bayport, a furniture mover, a police officer and traffic judge, Head Mechanic at Stillwater Country Club, and then later as a lawn mower, professionally at the Country Club and amateur at home.

He had his mischievous moments, like when we were children and he made us lunch or at the dinner table when we asked for something to drink, he'd chide us with "You want oil?" and we'd say "No, milk." and he's say "Well, what are you going to do with it?" and we'd say "drink it." and while giving it, he'd hover the jug over our heads and say, "Oh. Well, where do you want it? Poured on your head?" and we'd say "No, in a glass." This became such a ritual between us and him, that after a time, we would simply ask "Milk, to drink, in a glass, please." And remained that way until we'd gone to daycare and thoroughly confused our daycare provider, Jean Pritchard, with it. THEN he caught hell from my mom.

Being raised by A Norwegian father that had, himself, been adopted and raised by German parents, and a mother who was full German herself, his life was structured and rather strict by today's standards. He was taught a man shows his love by doing things, not words. But over the years my mother, my brother, and I softened him, and he learned that he could tell us how he loved us, and that would not make him weak. He still had issues with it, and every time he'd tell me the score of a sports game he'd seen the day before, knowing full well I'd seen it too, or told me a story that could have done with a copy editor thumb through, I knew it was because he loved me, and he wanted to share everything he could.

He was as much a child with his toys as we were with ours, his toys just happened to have a more destructive capability. If it wasn't a chainsaw, or a flamethrower to burn weeds, and melt ice off the driveway, it was a skidloader to move snow with. If only our neighborhood had more growing children, Oh, the forts they would have had each snowfall. They would be like snow KINGS! Along with that was the need to use those toys for everything, whether or not they were REALLY necessary. Not long ago, he saw a tree sprouting up beside the concrete of the garage's flooring. So OBVIOUSLY, he fired up the skidloader, wrapped a chain around that tree, and tried to use the bucket to yank it out. He accidentally tore a gash in the BRAND NEW siding of the garage. Needless to say, My mother was unimpressed. And to this day, that tree sprout still grows there. As if to say "That ALL you got?"

He loved technology, even if he didn't QUITE get it all the time. When I was a child we were unique that we had easy communication to someone driving around town from home because he had a CB radio in each of the family cars, and a base station in the house with a tower in the backyard. That love of technology continued, although tempered as it moved much faster than he could really keep up with. I became default tech support for my father over the years, and he would often pepper his dialogue with terms he knew were... MOSTLY correct. Once he was having problems with the house's wireless internet and called me from downstairs asking "Is your Google working up there?" and after he'd repeated that to various questions amounting to "What on earth are you talking about?" he stated "My Google downstairs is broke." which meant "The internet isn't connecting".

He had a quick and easy passing, like few who truly deserve them are afforded. But the heartache and longing remain, because although he is in a place where he knows neither want, nor pain. We grieve for the loss of times we thought we had yet to have together. Knowledge he had yet to share, and happiness he had yet to have with his family and friends. He is at peace, but we must remain and go on here. But he will never truly leave us, as no one ever really does, as long as they are remembered and loved, he will remain with me for my entire life. As the example of how to be a good man. He was my father, but he was also my friend. And he shall be missed as greatly as he was loved.